


Touch

by Lesetoilesfous



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved, Vax Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-26 01:07:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13846836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lesetoilesfous/pseuds/Lesetoilesfous
Summary: Vox Machina notice something about Vax.Or: the story of how Vox Machina get to know Vax a little better and he, in turn, gives them a little more of his trust.





	Touch

Somehow, Grog is the first one to notice. It’s not so much a conscious observation as it is an instinct. Grog knows that after a fight he needs to come down from his rages, that he needs to stop in case he hurts any of the good guys. He also notices that Vax does the same. That for all his jokes, and arrogance, when Vax steps back from a fallen enemy with hands covered in blood, his fingers are twitching. He shakes, and his half-elven ears, not nearly as mobile as a full-blooded elf, press flat back against his hair.

 

Grog doesn’t know what this means, exactly. He knows Vax doesn’t rage like he does. But he also knows that whatever energy lingers around his friend after a fight is unpredictable, and dangerous, and he knows that when they’ve stopped fighting he needs to stop being dangerous. So Grog does what he would have done in the herd with anyone younger than he was. He claps a hand on Vax’s shoulder, and Vax flinches, dagger spinning in his hand, before he sees who’s touching him. Then he relaxes in one great rush, and gives Grog a tired and grateful smile.

 

Grog watches him carefully. He’s still paler than usual, and someone else’s blood is drying on his cheek. His ears are still pressed flat against his hair. He speaks slowly, like the others do to him when he needs them to. “It’s alright. We’re alive. Everyone’s safe.” Under his hand, the half-elf’s skinny shoulders drop even further. Vax takes a deep breath, and slips the dagger he’d been spinning between his fingers back into its sheath. He looks around the room and nods, taking another breath.

 

“Right. Yeah. Yes. Thank you, Grog.” He sounds sincere, which is rare enough for Grog to be vaguely worried about him anyway.

 

Grog nods, and squeezes his shoulder, ignoring Vax’s subtle wince. “S’alright.” Then he lets go and claps him on the back. The rest of their party are already outside in the corridor, and Grog moves to follow them, turning back and jerking his head at Vax. “You coming?”

 

Grog watches Vax melt into an image of confidence, dropping the nerves like rain from a cloud. “Just giving you a head start, old friend. Thought this way you’d stand a sporting chance.”

 

Grog growls, but he smiles as well and Vax grins back, dodging the fist Grog throws his way when he gets closer to the door.

 

It becomes something of a routine. If Pike is there, then Pike helps bring Grog back. If Pike isn’t there, then it’s Vex, or Keyleth, or Scanlan. Then, once Grog has come back from the red, dark, angry place that is his rage, he finds Vax. It doesn’t take much – normally Grog sticks to a squeeze of his shoulder. But Vax settles immediately, and stops acting so much like a frightened bird or a trigger-happy archer. Grog is no healer: he doesn’t know why the gesture works, he’s just happy it does, and he tries not to put much thought into it beyond that.

 

He does, eventually, learn that it works outside of battle too. Sometimes, if one of them was hurt, Vax gets jumpy even without any enemies. Grog learns that if he squeezes his shoulder it still helps, and when he can he does it. Vax is a formidable ally, for all that he’s a pain in the ass, and it doesn’t do to have him jumping at shadows.

 

* * *

 

Keyleth is second to notice. For all the pressure that she’d carried for as long as she could remember, the Air Ashari were a deeply loving group of people. Everyone around her had been her family, and they were far more relaxed about physical touch than most cultures in Tal’Dorei seemed to be. It was something Keyleth had missed keenly when she’d left her tribe: the ability to just fall into a friendly embrace until the world felt right again. She’d spent a lot of time in her animal forms, curled around herself as a great tiger or wolf, trying to seek that same warmth in herself. Sometimes it worked.

 

Vax liked to act like he needed nothing. He and Vex were casually physically affectionate: they exchanged light touches and punches as easily as breathing, but they rarely hugged. Instead, Vax disappeared ahead of them, hiding in the shadows or going into Emon on secret missions without sharing his plans. If Keyleth hadn’t known better, Vax would have seemed to be the member of their party least interested in their arrangement.

 

Yet it was Vax who called them family, again and again. That meant something to Keyleth, and from what little she knew of the twins, she knew it meant something to them too. She was fairly certain all of Vox Machina understood its gravity, the trust that Vax was giving them by claiming them as his own. She wasn’t sure whether Vax knew exactly what he wanted. He called them family, and he’d die for them, she knew that. But Keyleth didn’t think that Vax expected them to die for him. She also didn’t think he expected much beyond this loyalty which, though touching, was more the kind of fealty a retainer gave to his king than a brother to his family.

 

Keyleth is not the most socially graceful member of the group, she’s ready to admit that. But she knows something about positive relationships. So when Vax sits back in his chair during meal at Greyskull Keep, fiddling with his dagger to try and hide the way his hands are shaking or the way he keeps looking at the shadows, Keyleth notices. When Scanlan and Vex are playing at dice whilst Grog sharpens his axe by the fire, and Vax absently carves little pieces of wood with the edge of a knife, ears pressed firmly back against his hair, Keyleth notices.

 

So she starts trying to do something about it. Mostly, she keeps it casual. When Vax sits alone, Keyleth sits next to him. She starts leaning against him, and at first he stiffens, sharp as an unhappy cat. When Keyleth, a little worried that she’s misread the situation, asks him whether this is ok, he shakes his head and says, fervent and with wide eyes, “ _No._ I mean, yes! This is ok!” Seemed to remember himself, Vax clears his throat and shifts a little, careful not to dislodge her. “I mean, this is fine.” Keyleth turns away to try and hide her smile, because he looks so young when he doesn’t know what to do, and watches Vex crowing her victory over Scanlan, again.

 

They graduate at some point from Keyleth leaning on Vax whilst they sit on their chaise longue, to Keyleth hugging Vax’s arm. She’ll admit that she’s missed this too: a casual, physical, platonic intimacy that she hasn’t had since the Air Ashari. The first time she does it, he squeaks, stopping in what he’s doing. His ears have pricked forward, and Keyleth wonders if he knows how obvious he is. “Um. This’ll make…It’s rather hard to carve like this.” He gestures a little uselessly with the chunk of wood he’s holding. Keyleth makes a non-committal sound. She’s tired, and magically drained.

 

“I’m sure you’ll find a way.” Then she squeezes his arm and settles in. At some point she falls asleep, and when she wakes up, Vax has passed out too. Vex is looking at them both and she seems terribly sad in the low light. When she catches Keyleth watching her, she shrugs.

 

“It’s the first time in years I’ve seen him fall asleep before me.” Keyleth files that away, then yawns, and Vex laughs, holding up a heavy woollen blanket. “Laina got it for me. Sleep here tonight.” Keyleth nods and lets Vex tuck the blanket around her and Vax. When Vex bends down and kisses her forehead, Keyleth shuts her eyes, and knows with the kind of confidence that comes in the company of friends that she has finally found a family again. Vex kisses Vax’s head as well and turns, blowing out the candle. “Sweet dreams, darlings.”

 

After that, it’s a lot easier. When they’re out shopping, Keyleth will excitedly grab Vax’s arm, and the wide smile she gets in response is more than enough to encourage her. When Vax starts looking nervous or lonely back in Greyskull Keep, Keyleth will set her chin on his head, or her elbow on his shoulder. She’ll grab his hand, and lie with her head in his lap. Slowly, but surely, like a particularly stubborn knot, Vax starts to unwind – not just around her but around the whole of Vox Machina. His smiles come wider and more honestly. His jokes are gentle, and playful, and he acts less like he’s expecting them to kick him out at any minute. He spends less time in the shadows.

 

Sometimes Keyleth isn’t in a place for human touch, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t want touch at all. Sometimes Vax is upset, or angry, and he won’t see any of them. He disappears for hours, and leaves the rest of them tense and worried and wondering when he’ll be back. When this happens, Keyleth shrugs into one of her other shapes, and finds him as a sparrow, or as a cat. She’ll sit on his shoulder or in his lap, and she’ll wait until he’s ready to come back and be a person again.

 

It’s not perfect, but it works.

 

* * *

 

Scanlan, to his embarrassment, is not third but fourth to figure it out. He learns this when he mentions it to Pike one day, whilst they’re hiking through the countryside. “Have you ever noticed that Vax reacts rather powerfully to physical touch? Not sexually, though I suppose he might. But contact from his friends seems to settle him like a drug.” Pike raises an eyebrow at him, and gods help him but she’s as beautiful as she was the day he met her.

 

“Well, yes. Hadn’t you?” She asks the question politely, but Scanlan knows her well enough to know that this is Pike’s gentle way of wondering how it had took him so long. He smirks to hide his discomfort.

 

“I suppose I’d been busier trying to stay alive.” He tries to ignore the wave of memories that deflection brings with it: because Scanlan has never been made of muscle, and fighting dragons was a little outside the remit of what he’d signed up for.

 

“Hm.” Only Pike Trickfoot can channel that much quiet disapproval into one sound. It’s enough to make Scanlan wonder whether she has a little bardic magic of her own. The rest of their companions continue on ahead of them, Vex and Vax taking an easy lead and melting into the few trees either side of the dew-soaked path they’re walking. Keyleth is in earnest conversation with Percy, and Grog is quiet, but it’s a calm kind of quiet that most often happens when they’re away from the city.

 

Scanlan considers dropping the conversation - he does have a shred of dignity to protect, after all. But his curiosity, as usual, gets the best of him. “Have you ever heard of anything like that? I mean, I don’t think anything’s wrong with him, persay…” He trails off, unsure that he likes where his own thought process is going, and waits for Pike to save him. He seems to do that a lot these days.

 

She gives him a tired smile. She’s seemed a lot more exhausted lately: he’s guessing overseeing Sarenrae’s latest temple is not an easy endeavour. Scanlan tries hard to resist the resentment that rises in him against the goddess for that. The last thing he needs is her ire. Pike brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, and suddenly Scanlan doesn’t need to try and fight his thoughts, because he is very much there in the moment on a misty morning, walking next to Pike Trickfoot. “I’ve heard of it.” She lowers her voice, glancing up ahead of them. Vax and Vex are easily 20 feet ahead, but Scanlan steps a little closer to her anyway and lowers his head. “It’s usually carried over from childhood.”

 

Scanlan frowns, intrigued despite himself. “How so?”

 

Pike shrugs, and her heavy metal armour scrapes with the movement. It’s misted over with fog and Scanlan wonders whether she’s cold. “Little ones who are somewhat forgotten by their parents. No one to hold them. They end being sort of…starved for it, I guess?” Pike looks suddenly, terribly sad. “If it’s particularly severe when they’re young, I’ve heard that infants can die of it.” She takes a deep breath, and doesn’t so much shake off the feeling as let it go. “If as adults they don’t get it either – ” And here she gives Scanlan a look that is part amused and part disapproving, “then it becomes a sort of, forgotten craving. Something they need, but might not know they need.”

 

Scanlan nods, considering this and slipping his hands into his pockets to try and ignore the cold of the morning. He keeps his voice low, and he’s man enough to admit that it’s partly to keep them where they are, walking barely an inch apart, for all that Pike’s armoured elbow is probably wearing a bruise into his. “Yet all we’ve heard of Elaina, their mother, suggests that she was eminently loving. I find it hard to believe she failed them so profoundly.”

 

Pike nods. Her cheeks and nose and ears are red with the cold and Scanlan desperately wants to kiss them. But he can’t do that, so instead he looks down at his wet boots as they walk the well trodden path through the hills. “I’ve thought about that. But…well, first, I think the past is easy to see with rose-tinted glasses. Especially if it’s contrasted against a guardian like Syldor.” Scanlan makes a soft sound of agreement. “But also…I’m sure Elaina did her best by them, but there was a reason she sent them away. I expect that no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t afford the time to give them the attention they needed.” Scanlan can buy that. It’s still hard, imagining the twins - with their noble bearing and fine accents – growing up in poverty. He wonders how different they would be if they’d stayed there.

 

Ahead of them on the track, Trinket grunts and Scanlan scowls, wondering for the fiftieth time that morning exactly why they hadn’t left the bear in their keep. It leads him neatly enough to his next question. “But what of Vex? She doesn’t really seem to react in the same way to touch. Either it’s meaningless or she rejects it from everyone but her brother and that damn bear.” Pike’s lips quirk in a quick smile at Scanlan’s irritation and, like a love-struck fool, he finds himself wondering whether he could make her smile again. But she’s focused on their topic instead, and answers him sincerely.

 

“People react differently to these things. We know what they’ve told us: Vex retired to the forest. She chose to reject people entirely. Vax…well, he says he didn’t, but. You know how he is.” Pike’s blue-grey eyes are as bright as the mid-morning sky, but she looks troubled. “He doesn’t trust easily either.”

 

Scanlan inclines his head. “Braces himself for a punch, not a handshake.” Pike nods.

 

“Exactly. I expect that, perhaps…” She sighs and looks up at their companions, a line of worry wrinkling her brow. “Well, I don’t like to speculate. But I think that perhaps Vax is more used to being hurt than he is to being helped. Personally, I think he wants comfort – platonically,” She hurries to clarify, and Scanlan grins at her, a smile that widens when she blushes, “But he doesn’t trust people to give it to him without a condition, or without hurting him.” Pike has sobered by the time she’s finished, and for all that he’d like to pretend this rag-tag group of idiots didn’t matter to him, Scanlan feels something heavy sink into his gut too.

 

“But he trusts us, right?” Pike looks at him, and Scanlan doesn’t need her to answer, because he knows what she wants to say. _Yes, but._

 

Over the following weeks, Scanlan starts to make a point of physically touching Vax, even when he doesn’t need to. He grabs the half-elf’s arm, and nudges his hip. When Vax is sitting down, Scanlan slumps over his shoulder to squint at whatever wood he’s carving or blade he’s sharpening. When they’re by a campfire, Scanlan leans against his side whilst he strums a quiet tune. Keyleth often sits on his other side, and occasionally Vax will make a nervous joke about how he’s a lot less mobile like this. But he’s so physically relaxed that neither of them pays much attention to his protests.

 

When they’re in the back of a cart, or talking, Scanlan will occasionally start braiding Vax’s hair, just for the hell of it. He claps Vax on the back, and grabs his hand to move him places. He offers more fist bumps and high fives than he ever has, and squeezes Vax’s shoulder when he can. The difference is tangible: Vax becomes less and less strained. His ears prick up: it’s not much of a difference, but Scanlan had hardly realised that they didn’t need to be pressed flat back against his head until they stop doing that. Vax stops leaving them as often, and when he disappears he tells them where he’s going.

 

He still teases Scanlan, but there’s less nervousness to it now and more affection. Over time, he starts returning the gestures, casual touches in moments of quiet and peace. Scanlan, who is not a very tactile person himself outside of his various liaisons, makes himself lean into it and slowly becomes comfortable with Vax’s increasing displays of physical affection. It’s not a problem, really, and over time Scanlan realises that he rather likes it. He realises that perhaps, he’d needed this from a friend too.

 

* * *

 

Percy is the fifth to notice. He’s had rather a lot to think about. Even before everything went so horribly wrong, Percy had never been a man or a boy who’d particularly prized physical affection. He tolerated it from his parents and his siblings, but he’d always been an introvert, and preferred the company of his machines over that of other people. Then everything happened, and Dr Ripley happened, and Percy had learned to associate touch with pain, and loss, and grief and horror. He’d been an introverted boy, now as a man he was almost closed off entirely. So noticing a friend’s desire for comfort was neither high on his list of priorities nor something he was likely to see.

 

This is not, however, to say that Percy is not observant. If there is one thing that can be said about him, it is that he is a quick study, and not much escapes his notice. Besides, his friends are obviously not trying to hide their behaviour from him.

 

It starts with Grog. Grog, who for all his laughter and all his abandon can hardly be called affectionate. He starts going to Vax after a fight. He squeezes Vax’s shoulder, and he speaks slowly and quietly, the way that Pike does to him when he’s in a rage. Percy thinks it’s strange, and files it under probable misunderstanding. He can see how the goliath could confuse Vax in battle as being in rage: the half-elf is terrifying to behold. His quick smiles disappear, and he becomes cold and hard and deadly until the killing stops. But he doesn’t _rage_ , not like Grog does. Percy thinks it’s a somewhat charming and misplaced error, nothing more. The fact that Grog continues - with squeezing Vax’s shoulder and patting his back – outside of the first, shaking, bloody moments after a battle is a little odd, but it’s not odd enough for Percy to pay much attention to. He has far too much to do.

 

When Keyleth starts getting closer to Vax, Percy assumes that she’s finally acting on the crush that had been transparently obvious to him for weeks. But for all the intimacy of Keyleth’s behaviour, it doesn’t seem that she’s trying to be romantic. Instead, she reminds him of a puppy in a litter, falling asleep on a brother or a friend. She doesn’t put any intent into her gestures, there’s nothing sexual about her behaviour. She just starts sitting next to Vax, or dropping an elbow on his shoulder, or propping her chin on his head. Together, they remind him painfully of Whitney and Oliver and Ludwig, falling on top of each other with the casual, innocent intimacy of children. But Percy cannot think about that so he tries not to pay attention.

 

When Keyleth and Vax fall asleep on top of each other one night, Vex does nothing to try and hide her delight. Again, it doesn’t seem to be romantic. But the shadows under Vax’s eyes grow a little lighter over the next few weeks, and there’s more colour in his complexion. He looks healthier, somehow, though Percy had not realised he was sick.

 

When Scanlan starts making a visible effort to be physically affectionate with Vax, Percy notices a pattern. The gnome has never been reticent, exactly, about touching any of them. But he has also never sought out hugs or gestures in the way that, for example, Keyleth has. His behaviour seems to be deliberately directed at Vax, and yet Percy knows that Scanlan harbours no romantic intent towards him. Nor has Scanlan done Vax any great wrong, not that Percy knows of. Yet it seems to have a tangible positive effect: Vax starts telling them where he’s going, and the part of Percy that cannot deny how much he has begun to care for these people is reassured. He stops worrying quite as much about what might happen to Vax whilst he’s gone. He stops seeing his unconscious body beneath the Briarwoods in the dark outside the palace. (Not entirely. Percy doesn’t think he’ll ever stop having that nightmare.)

 

All in all, it comes up to a relatively simple conclusion: Vax is trusting them, more than he did before. This seems to be directly linked to their party’s growing willingness to be physically affectionate towards him.

 

This should not be a great ask, but it is, for Percy. Even once he’s come to his conclusion, it takes him weeks to find the courage to do anything about it. The corners of his vision are haunted by Ripley, and the ghosts of his siblings, and everything that such easy, gentle, meaningless touch carries with it.

 

He doesn’t know how much Vax knows, or how much he might guess. But he hopes his friend understands something of how much it means to him when he presses a grenade into his hand and carefully, deliberately, clasps Vax’s fingers between his for a moment. There’s a little shift, and Percy glances up to see that Vax’s eyes are as wide as a child’s and his ears have pricked up a little. Then Vax blinks, and shakes his head, and thanks him for the weapon. Percy nods and adjusts his glasses and mentally tells his stupid, shaking body that he hasn’t just climbed a mountain.

 

It takes time, but it gets easier. Percy cannot be like Keyleth and Scanlan – he’s not sure that he’ll ever be able to offer that much. But he does give something – small touches to Vax’s elbow, or his back, or his shoulder. Sometimes he deliberately brushes their fingers, sometimes he grabs Vax’s wrist and pulls him when he could have just told him to move. On one memorable occasion, when the idiot nearly dies for his sake, Percy puts his hands on either side of his head and presses a quick, nervous kiss to his hair.

 

Over time, Vax starts to reciprocate. He never crosses Percy’s boundaries, and for this Percy is unutterably grateful. But occasionally he finds his way to Percy’s workshop, holding something hot and steaming, and offers it to him. He leans against Percy’s workbench, and watches him work, or talks quietly. Percy lets him stay, because he can do this much, and he sees the way that Vax relaxes at being allowed to stay, and it’s sort of flattering. Vax feels safe with him, and Percy hopes he knows that the feeling is mutual. Whether it’s in battle or on the street, Vax will occasionally brush their hands, or nudge Percy with his elbow, and Percy has seen enough of Vax’s clever hands to know that such gestures are not accidental.

 

It’s a fragile kind of peace, but as far as Percy knows, all the best things in life are fragile anyway.

 

* * *

 

Vex’ahlia has always known that her brother needs reassurance. It is this knowing, perhaps, which means it takes her so long to realise what exactly has happened. Vex knows Vax as well as her own shadow, and sometimes it’s hard to see things that are so close. What Vex does notice, over time, is that her brother is happier, and calmer, and more willing to share with and trust their new family. She notices the way Vax gets more playful and less nervous. She notices the fact that he disappears less often, and that if he leaves he tells them where he’s going. Vex realises that she’d spent so long in the woods not knowing whether her brother was going to come back that her worry when he left had hardened into a sort of scar, somewhere deep in her heart, a preparation for the worst every time he left her side. The pain of that eases, somewhat, now.

 

Vex had made a decision when she was thirteen years old that she didn’t care about hugs and kisses and handholding. She’d made the decision half out of a hurt, angry kind of spite towards her father for so soundly rejecting her. She’d made it half out of disgust, towards all the people who seemed to think that touching her without her permission was somehow their right. She was alright with Vax touching her, but she didn’t really need it the way he seemed to. She preferred her own company. She felt comfortable there.

 

When Vex was seventeen years old, she mentally amended her decision. She was fine with a certain kind of intimate touch from strangers, as long as it was easy, and didn’t come with any kind of emotional attachment.

 

Once she’d made that decision, Vex was fairly set, and after she found Trinket, she had all the physical comfort she needed. Trinket would not stab her in the back, and there was reassurance in the bear’s simple strength. If Vex wanted to be reassured that she wasn’t alone, she could sink her hand into Trinket’s fur, or bump into Vax’s shoulder. That was enough.

 

So it takes her a while to unravel exactly why her brother is so much happier these days: why the shadows under his eyes have faded, and why he stops trying to hide every chance he gets, even when they’re at home. It’s Percy, in the end, who gives it away. Vex sees a kindred spirit in Percy, she understands his reluctance to touch as easily as Grog and Keyleth do. She respects the wide barrier of personal space he so meticulously maintains. So when Percy starts ‘accidentally’ bumping into Vax, it is actively strange. It’s intriguing, and Vex starts paying attention. She wouldn’t be surprised if De Rolo had developed a crush on her brother, Vex could admit to herself that most people found both of them attractive. She was a little disappointed that Percy hadn’t chosen her, but she wasn’t one to judge. Besides, knowing her brother, if they did have a fling it would be brief and meaningless. She just hoped he’d handle Percy gently.

 

But once Vex starts paying attention, it becomes fairly obvious fairly quickly that neither Percy nor Vax are trying to be romantic. They do touch, occasionally, but it’s the chaste, platonic touches of close friends, not lovers. They obviously make Percy nervous, and he keeps them few and far between. But Vax doesn’t seem in a hurry to press him, and both of them seem comfortable with the arrangement. Which leaves Vex with the question of why exactly they’re doing it in the first place.

 

This line of thinking draws her attention to the way the rest of Vox Machina are behaving towards her brother. It’s not out of character, exactly. It’s more like they’re deliberately emphasising something: Scanlan, of all people, if anything a man Vex had pinned as closer in temperament to she and Percy, starts leaning against Vax by their campfires whilst he plays his flute. Keyleth, shy and awkward as she is, folds herself over Vax when he’s sitting in a chair to look at what he’s carving. Even Grog, simple and brutal, makes an effort to squeeze Vax’s shoulder or pat him on the back. It’s almost strange, really. Vex has never seen Vax treated like this before, at least not often. Syldor had certainly never given them any kind of affection.

 

Elaina had, of course. But she’d been so busy working, and she’d needed Vax to run errands for her. She’d mussed his hair, and kissed him, and hugged him. But Vax had been gone so often, Vex supposed he hadn’t really had the quiet company that she’d had with their mother, standing together and washing clothes or trying their best to stitch things back together. Vax had often been eager to help, but he’d get in the way more than anything, and normally their mother had sent him outside to play.

 

Then they’d run away from Syldor, and there was nothing left in Byroden, and they’d fallen apart. When Vex and Vax had finally put themselves back together again, Vax was harder, and crueller, and Vex didn’t want to look too closely at what had become of the kind, smiling, playful little boy she’d known as a child. So when he disappeared into the city and came back bruised and bleeding, she didn’t really ask questions. She did what she could to support him, she healed him and protected him as he healed and protected her. She foraged in the woods and hoped it would keep him away from the town. She tried not to think about how often other people’s blood ended up on their clothes.

 

She knew that Vax thought of sex as casually as she did: that he wasn’t particularly interested in any emotional attachments, and that he enjoyed it well enough but didn’t think of it as a priority. Sometimes he’d come back to their campsite grinning and unruly, sometimes she’d do the same. They’d tease each other and move on, and that was all.

 

So it had never occurred to Vex that Vax needed something more, or something different than what they already had. Somehow she hadn’t noticed how tense he’d become in Greyskull, even with their new friends. She hadn’t realised that there was something missing, at least as far as Vax was concerned. But it looked like she didn’t need to, because their friends – their family – had noticed anyway.

 

So when they’re back in Emon, and they’re safe, and they’ve eaten a huge, hot dinner and they’re warm and comfortable from a night full of laughter, Vex walks around the table and gives Vax a hug. He laughs, and after a moment hugs her back, tightly. Vex shuts her eyes: she always feels like a child when she hugs him. A child with a mother who loved her, and no cares in the world, not old enough yet to understand the kind of power a gold coin could hold, nor to know what kind of freak she was. Vex’s eyes sting, and she ignores it. When she pulls back, Vax looks at her carefully, and his dark eyes are little concerned. He tilts his head, “What was that for?”

 

Vex shrugs. They’re standing by their table, and the rest of the group are watching them, and she feels vaguely shy, suddenly. “I don’t know. Thought you might need it.” Vax blushes, glancing over her shoulder at the rest of them. He opens his mouth to reply.

 

But then Grog grins. “Group hug!”

 

Keyleth laughs and rushes forward, and Scanlan sighs and comes too, and then Grog’s arms are wrapping around Vex and Vax and squeezing them together, and Keyleth is wriggling into the middle and squeezing their waists, and Scanlan is patting their hips. After a long moment, Percy sighs and steps closer, and then Keyleth and Scanlan and Vax and Vex are grabbing him and pulling him in, and for one warm, laughing moment they’re a family, and they’re safe, and nothing is going to hurt them.

 

 

“ _Family. Family, family”_ ~ _Vax’ildan, episode 14_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really love them so much y'all. I'm at episode 29 rn and loving the Briarwoods arc, just wanted to get this out. Hopefully I'm starting to get to know Vax a little better as a character.
> 
> I think overall I headcanon Vax as touch-starved and possibly a little more hardened than Vex. Not tougher, just, treated differently. Based on what I know now, I kind of interpret Vex as someone who's survived emotional abuse and neglect, whereas I read Vax as a little more on the physical abuse spectrum. Still, not sure and liable to change my mind. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the story, and thank you for reading. This fandom is lovely. Ciao for now!


End file.
